


Ultimately

by deltachye



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Songfic, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 13:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x peter parker]you don't believe in soulmates, but he draws you with inhuman power.[DW 19]





	Ultimately

You know, in a world where superheroes fly around in God’s blue sky like no big fucking deal, you shouldn’t be so shocked that soulmates exist.

Not many people actually have any markers. According to a research study published by some university that was not a hack, only a select few of the population _were_ linked by a power greater than human imagination. Due to some science shit or magic shit or something like that. Whatever. You never believed it, at first; it all just seemed like a 2010 Tumblr wet dream. People were still getting divorced. Couples were still breaking up and getting back together to break up. People were still cheating, still fighting, still unhappy.

The tattoo came when you were fifteen.

Obviously, you were not very happy about this. If you were going to get a tattoo that’s on your body for life, you should have some say in it. Actually, you should have all the goddamn say in it! You wanted a lily for your dog, not some bullshit line of text that meant nothing to you. Your mother nearly lost her life when she saw it, printed loud and proud on your wrist:

I’M SORRY [NAME]

What kind of headass… tattoos their own name onto themselves?!

You tried everything. Even life hacks on Instagram; that’s how low it got. You begged your parents to take you to laser removal, but the tattoo artist was bewildered when none of the pigment went away. This was a force that wasn’t manmade. It wasn’t a regretful tattoo you had gotten while blacked out then. It had to be a soulmate tattoo.

Your very scientific research of pounding out questions on Google.com told you that the tattoo soulmate markers were most common and appeared in 1.3% of the population, as opposed to numbers like 0.2 and 0.000000000000000000000001. That meant there had to be some people talking about it. You were getting pretty desperate for answers. Unfortunately, there were no forums for people fucked over by this soulmate ordeal. But you did manage to find out that most people who got soulmate tattoos got the first words their soulmate would say to them.

So, what did that mean for you? You can’t stop rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. It hadn’t hurt, just showing up that one day as you rushed to get ready for school. It was just there now, like it had always been there. What kind of person would say something so serious to you at the first meeting? Maybe they’ll run you over with their bike or something. God knows that happens enough in Queens. Maybe they had already said it to you and you were fat out of luck. What if your soulmate lives in assfuck nowhere? A different country? A different _world_? How were you supposed to find them like this?

It’s embarrassing to go to high school and have a tattoo when you’re clearly not eighteen. Especially one with your name on it. Even with the foundation caked up on your arm and the sweater despite it not being remotely close to sweater weather, you can still feel each letter, ghostly reminders. Every time somebody walks up to you, you find yourself staring oddly, scouring their body for any tattoos. You hope it’s in the same spot as yours, but nobody else has any tattoos on their left wrist, from what you can tell.

There is one person you’re hoping it is, ever since this shit begun. There’s only one person you want to hear these words from. But you already know them, so does that mean they won’t ever say these words to you? Does it mean he’s not your soulmate, and you’re actually tethered so somebody else, somebody you don’t give a shit about when all you care about is the way _his_ brown eyes gleam? The thought makes you want to throw up. You don’t think you can handle it if he’s meant for somebody else.

When chemistry comes you can almost feel your chest tightening itself in a vice. It took every last bit of your courage to come to class. Your hands are shaking so you shove them between your thighs. Each tick of the second hand feels like an eternity, and you can feel your eyes darting around from person to person. It’s a moment you’ve been waiting for since you blearily rubbed your eyes and saw black ink brushed across your skin. It’s a moment you dread.

Peter’s late to second period—always is. Today is no exception and he barrels through the door to the chime of Midtown’s excessively long bell. You never know why he’s so late, but you think it’s insensitive to ask. In any case, you’re just relieved to see him. He smiles when you move your books off the lab stool beside you. There’s unassigned assigned seating, and you’re pretty sure nobody wants to sit next to you anyways. But you always keep a space for him just in case.

“You look like a mess,” you comment under your breath as the professor walks up to the board. Peter self-consciously swipes his hand through the subtle waves in his light brown hair, catching the leaf that’d been stuck there with it. His face reddens slightly and he looks away from you.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” you interrupt. Although you would love to know what he’s doing, scurrying around the halls frantically all the time, you pride yourself on being his refuge. You don’t have to know. He can be safe and normal with you. You just want to be his anchor.

“Thank you.” It’s not just a ‘thanks’ or a nod, it’s a ‘thank you’. His voice is heavy with relief and suddenly he seems so tired. With newfound bravery you wouldn’t have had before, your hand creeps forwards until it touches his. You squeeze it. With wondrous awe, he stares at you until you forcefully flip his hand over, pulling his sweater sleeve up with the other.

MIND IF I SIT NEXT TO YOU?

Your heart catches in your throat.

That.

Was.

You.

That was most definitely you, because on the first day of school you had walked in sheepishly, looking for the nicest looking person in this room. And Peter, sweet Peter, had his head in his palm, looking up dreamily like he was wishing he were anywhere but here. And you were drawn to that, feeling it too—so, swallowing your shyness, you had walked up to his lab bench and asked,

“Mind if I sit next to you…?”

“[Name]?” he yelps, snatching his arm back and rubbing it like it burns. You swallow thickly and look up to him. Peter’s a genius and there’s no way his brilliant, nerdy self wouldn’t have figured it out long before you had. His light eyelashes flutter and his face, at first nervously apprehensive, breaks out into a relieved grin. It’s a smile that says, _thank God_.

You reveal your own soulmate tattoo to him later, washing off the make-up. You both agree it’s weird and not at all what he first said to you, because it had to have been something more normal in response to what you said, like “sure!”. But whatever, maybe the two of you had just forgotten. This is all the affirmation you need. You had always been too much of a pussy to confess to Peter, afraid that dumping your girly teenage feelings on him would ruin the best friendship you had at this elitist prep school. You didn’t want to admit you were a coward, but when it came to Peter and his heartbreakingly sweet demeanour, you could barely manage to be around him—much less tell him you like-liked him.

Maybe fate isn’t so bad after all. Only, you’re kind of scared. You’ve had crushes before and stupid middle school swings. But this is your first relationship. What if you screw it up? What if soulmates don’t exist after all and you’re both going to fall apart in the end? Worse yet—what if he falls out of love with you?

But then he takes your hands, warming it between both of his own with a shy kiss to the fingertips, and you think for now it’ll be okay. You’ll figure out when the end is when it comes.

_Ultimately I don't understand a thing_  
I try to do the best I can  
I know you try to do the same  
We're just so bound to make mistakes  
You could call it a disposition  
I apologize for all your tears  
I wish I could be different  
But I'm still growing up  
Into the one you can call your love  
I don't know if I'll ever be enough  
I'm throwing in my chips  
I guess I tend to push my luck

You finally, finally believe soulmates are real when you feel it. Even when you and Peter start doing couple things, you aren’t sure of yourself. You love him, and he loves you back, but what if that’s just adolescent hormones? But now… you’re sure.

You feel it like a cold shock, like all the blood in your body has turned into ice shards. It stops you in the middle of writing a mundane English test and you drop your pencil, hand trembling uncontrollably. The pain doesn’t go away but it becomes deeper, wider, like an ache—and you feel so cold.

You tell yourself you imagined it. That it was just the flu and you had nothing to worry about. It’s all in your head, and Peter will tell you that. And it’s okay that he’s not here yet and not answering your cautious texts because Peter is always late to chemistry. He’s always, always late.

And when he doesn’t come, it’s okay. You keep your bag on the desk beside you just in case because it’s okay. Peter hadn’t said goodbye or anything. Just yesterday, the both of you had laughed so hard he’d accidentally sucked a ramen noodle up his nose. Just yesterday you’d kissed him, fingers just gently on his shoulders, barely hanging on. Just this morning, he’d texted you “ily” with a stupid little smiley face. It’s okay. Peter would not leave without saying goodbye.

People ask you why you’re crying. You know it’s not okay.

_And ultimately I believe we'll be okay_  
It's so cliché to say these things, but repetition is a key  
I think I'm better when I'm with you  
But I worry when you're gone  
I think I need to learn to love myself  
I must learn to be strong  
So for now we'll say goodbye  
Although it pains me in my heart  
Your words they come to me in memories  
They sing to me like songs

You try your best to believe in him, but it’s Aunt May that tells you. When Aunt May clutches your hands, you can’t avoid it anymore. She’s weeping uncontrollably, having suffered so much loss. It’s selfish of you to cry in front of her so you can only hold her weakly, knowing it’s not you she wants, but him.

He was a hero. That’s how he’ll be remembered; not as the nerdy, scrawny boy who wears science pun t-shirts. Apparently, Mr. Tony Stark has a say in this and gives him the grandeur Peter’d always dreamt about, gushing over superheroes and fame during lunchtime over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It’s too much, too late. There are so many people you don’t know dabbing tears from their eyes. You don’t cry at all, standing numbly at the front in your pathetic black clothes. You don’t need to cry to show the world how agonizing your pain is. To have half of you ripped away is to die once already.

When you go home and sit in your bed, you’re absolutely numb. You can’t think of anything in your head at all. Nothing comes to you. You can’t even think about Peter, because if you do, you won’t even be able to take in a breath anymore. You look down when you realize you’ve rubbed the tattoo on your wrist raw. I’m sorry [Name].

It now occurs to you that they weren’t meant to be the first words he said. It’d been such a big mystery, and now that you’ve solved it, you can’t bother to care.

You have gotten a soulmate tattoo that tells you the last words he will say.

Ah. So you _can_ still feel, because the way your heart blisters and bursts all over again reminds you of the pain he had felt. You had felt what he felt then, and that hurts you more than any heartbreak of your own. He died in pain. He died without you. He died apologizing to you because he knew, with guilt, that he would hurt you long, long after he’s gone.

In the end, it was all for you.

_Ultimately, it's a beautiful thing_  
Like flowers blooming in a lonely field  
The petals drift through crossing winds  
They find their way to river streams  
That scent the water beautifully, it takes me back to you  
It takes me back to you

**Author's Note:**

> fyi he didn't die from what happened in Infinity War. he just died by being a reckless hero.   
> so he ain't come back  
> enjoy :,-)
> 
> support my writing? www.ko-fi.com/deltachye  
> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/tagged/chye%27s-fics


End file.
